I'm not an olive picker I'm an olive picker's son

I was in the study when I heard Husband come stomping in. In the kitchen I could hear him moving things around. He sounded bad-tempered so I wandered in.

'I can't find it anywhere,' he said.
'What are you looking for?'
'My olive picker. I know I put it somewhere safe.'

I lifted up and shifted a few bits and pieces. No sign of an olive picker.

I have no idea what an olive picker is but I felt I should show willing.

It might be one of these.

Probably not one of these.

And I'm sure I'd have noticed this if it had been in my kitchen.

Apparently he needs it because he has taken out the shower and can't replace it until he finds his olive picker. And don't get me started on dripping taps, waiting for husband, and the plumber.